


Isles of Sleep

by Zimraphel



Series: tolkien ficlets [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Nurtalë Valinóreva, the indifference of the valar towards individual suffering as a main character? hmm!, the shadowy seas, very mild horror maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/Zimraphel
Summary: And in the twilight a great weariness came upon mariners and a loathing of the sea.Some will sleep until the very end of the world. Not every Valinorean explorer returns.-Amanyar encounter the indifference of the Valar on the Shadowy Seas during the Hiding of Valinor.(Originally posted on the SWG as Aerlinn, now uploaded to my AO3 account)
Series: tolkien ficlets [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042965
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Isles of Sleep

_And in the twilight a great weariness came upon mariners and a loathing of the sea; but all that ever set foot upon the islands were there entrapped, and slept until the Change of the World._

Sometimes I remember who I am. 

Do you ever wake up in a dream? You don't really wake up, of course. But suddenly you see yourself and you know: this is not real. 

Sometimes I know. And it is horrible. For a moment I see myself, wandering, captured in the kaleidoscopic house of mirrors Lórien builds to keep our minds trapped and our bodies in peaceful stasis. They say there is another one here, aside from me and my foolish crew. We saw a tower of pearl on our way here, so at least that part of the whispered old tales is based on some sort of reality. But who sleeps in it I can not say. There are many who never reached the shores of Eldamar, as many bones as jewels washed up on its shining shores. Yet they keep trying. I can not blame them. After all, was trying the exact opposite not just as foolish?

There are many tales that are not true, or at least we have not encountered them. No dark-haired Maiarin sorceress invited us into her home only to make our inner pigs a little more visible. No seductive song lured us closer and closer to dangerously sharp cliffs. We did not encounter seamonsters. Instead, there was mist, mist and silence. I do not think you truly understand the effect absolute silence eventually has on people: this was not the friendly silence of an early morning, disturbed occasionally by early birds and the rustling of leaves. No. This was an absorbing, clenching sort of silence, akin to the all-consuming mist that covered everything around us. The only sounds were the ones we made, and even those were somehow dampened, far away. 

We knew all the tales. It is true we held many of them to be children's tales, for such things are hard to imagine in the safety of our homes. Oh, we knew of the dangers, my crew and I. We knew very well that what we did was, though not forbidden, not entirely allowed either. It was one of those things. We like to believe the Valar are wholly good, if only for our own safety; and so we set out loudly announcing this to be an expedition, that we would be returning very swiftly, and made sure everyone in viciny, invisible or not, saw we carried no weapons. After a day of tarrying and fidgeting but no urgent messages, no omens, we set sail. I think we all knew why we tarried; none of us admitted it. Some facts, like a lack of freedom, are best left not faced, at least in company. Especially if you aren't sure what other company you have. 

The first day had gone well. No signs of anger from above if the quiet seas and blue skies were anything to go by. Our vessel bobbed peacefully up and down what little waves there were without trouble. The Teleri aboard even saw a good omen; some time before sunset, a small branch of oiolairë floated by. They told us this is how the lady Uinen shows her favour. I wanted to point out this could just as well be the only thing to remain of an unlucky ship seeking passage to the land of the Valar, but a sharp look from our healer quickly turned me to silence. The differences between our kindreds are pronounced enough as it is at this point, and there is certainly no need to make them even more obvious. It was enough of a miracle that we were aboard a ship at all.

When we first came across the isles, we were glad. After a two weeks of sailing, we all rejoiced at the idea of solid ground and possibly freshwater, even if we had not expected isles in this part of the ocean. Had someone at this point suggested these were in fact the infamous Shadowy Seas we were sailing, we would have laughed. Not only did we sail in an entirely different direction, the seas were also everything but shadowy. Apart from gentle showers now and then the weather had been lovely, all blue and golden, warm for late summer, with just enough of a salty breeze to keep our sails filled at all times. 

The first suspicions were almost already too late. Already had we had let down our anchor in small natural bay on the first island. Already one of our boatsmen had jumped into the water with a rope to moor the ship to its rocky shores. It was already late in the day, and we were eager to finally leave the ship, but he did not seem to make much haste. In fact, he did not move at all. He just sat there, on the rocky shore, rope in his hand. "Hey you!" I recall one of the men calling "hurry up and fasten that thing. The rest of us would like to sit around and pick flowers too". They laughed. He did not respond. The isle was indeed covered with flowers in various shades of red as far as it didn't consist of rocks; no trees seemed to grow on it. This didn't give us much hope about large quantities of freshwater, but it would at least be pleasant to remain there for a while. Another jumped into the water with rope under his arm, grumbling angrily. The sun was already setting, and we would have liked to set up camp before it went under entirely. But then we saw it. 

" _Fumellar_!" cried one of the Teleri. "No, no, stop!"

Under the last rays of the sinking sun, the flowers were if anything becoming more visible. In fact, they were glowing softly. They cast a reddish light over the water, emerging our lazy boatsman on the shore in an eerie light. His eyes were open, but unseeing; he appeared asleep, though he still sat up straight and held the rope. There was a curse from somewhere next to the ship and then the sound of the second man hastily climbing aboard again. With a flash of silver the Teler quickly cut the rope that bound us to that forsaken shore. No one said anything. We set sail, and when it didn't fill with wind as it used to, we rowed. Anything to get away from that place.

We did not come ashore again.

The next two weeks were the exact opposite from the former; we did not move quickly or effortlessly and the sun was nowhere to be seen most of the time. Though it had risen as it always did, it was now concealed by a thick layer of mist that lasted the entire day. The shadowy seas indeed. We did not yet talk about it; it felt like if we would the terror would never stop. Every isle we came across was covered by the same glowing flowers, and none of us even spoke of approaching one. We saw strange shapes from time to time, and once something like a great silver net, only just visible in the meager sunlight. We did not want to know what hung it there, and for whom. I do not know for how long we wandered, only that the longer it took, the less we sung, the less we talked. The silence around us seemed to dampen not only the sounds but our very spirits. Once, one of the crew cried to the Valar. There was no response. 

You cannot imagine what the voice sounded like to us, just as you cannot imagine what water tastes like to a dehydrated desert wanderer. We had, by then, mostly given up on speaking. We communicated through tired looks and the occasional sigh. Even the Teleri, the wave singers, found nothing to sing about. The earwax our superstitious companions had brought in case we came upon some far and forgotten siren-filled shore lay untouched in its basket. It was beautiful, though in a strange way. In fact, I do not even know what the voice sounded like to the rest of the crew. The only thing I know is that a look of wonder was on all of our faces. I heard the name of a lover on the tongue of one, a home town on that of another. Someone sighed their mother's name. This I know. There was a slight nausea before I gave in to my private dreams. Then, there was this.

Sometimes I think I am home again. My friends welcome me and congratulate us on our successful mission. Atar fawns over the foreign seeds and plants I have brought with me, Amil holds me close. My brothers are there, too. They look happier than they ever did in life. They look much happier than before they left. The air is blue and the sun shines brightly. There is a quiet breeze, just enough to help the small ships along but not enough to be bothersome. Everyone smiles.

I wonder what became of our vessel. Do we still drift aimlessly through the mist? I do not know. Maybe I am dreaming even this. Did we ever have a vessel? Maybe the Valar mean well after all. 

But then I think of the bones nested between the beryls and know: 

My brothers never reached those shores. Maybe no one ever did. 

And we will drift here forever, between the shadows and fumellar, never quite sure if any of us even existed at all.

_The silent isles with their dream-shores  
On the waves float,  
Whereto the faint-eyed mariner oars  
Within the dusk his eerie boat;  
All care put by, like one who knows  
No tide there turns and no wind blows_

(excerpt from Crawford's "the isles of sleep" )

**Author's Note:**

> Drawing heavily on older stuff here. I was enchanted ( so to say...) by the idea of the Enchanted Isles, and the Tower of Pearl, where Idril is supposed to sleep after a failed try of going after Tuor. 
> 
> Fumellar: "These flowers are only mentioned growing in Aman in the Gardens of Lórien. They were and are flowers much in the like of a poppy today. In the dusk they were glowing redly, and the Gods called those flowers Fumellar; the flowers of sleep."[definition from annalsofarda.dk]
> 
> I'm not entirely sure who the main character is. I think he/she is half Telerin, half Noldorin, with more Noldor-inclined brothers but quite a streak of Noldorin characteristics him/herself . I'm going with the idea that not all Teleri were entirely opposed to the idea of exploration, even if they didn't approve of Feanor & co.'s plans to take their boats without permission. This is supposed to take place after the rising of the Sun, so time has healed some wounds at least.


End file.
